Home
by IlanaNight
Summary: Moriarty's plan was perfect, there wasn't a single flaw. They'd slip away from this world and build a new one of their own. Detective and Criminal, hand in hand, would rule the world from the center of the web behind the veil of death. Based on the scene between the two in the season 3 premiere


"So, what do you say, darling? Are you ready to take the leap? To finally escape the cycle of boredom once and for all?" Moriarty's lilting voice broke the silence that had settled between them, a glint in his eyes, "I did promise you the game of a lifetime, didn't I?"

"You did. But I never expected this, Jim. Of all the games we've played, this is one I could not predict." Sherlock's voice was a practiced calm as he looked out over the London skyline. The people busied around in the streets, too immersed in trivial matters to know that two of the world's most intelligent men were holding a conversation above them.

But that was nothing new for either of them. They were used to normal people and their lack of observational skills. They looked but did not see, heard but did not listen. It was almost tragic, really.

A laugh came in response to Sherlock's remark and Moriarty continued, unperturbed, "Oh, but aren't the best games the ones we don't expect? There's nothing to bore us, then."

Every word Moriarty spoke made the prospect more and more tempting, and the thought that it would place them together yet again had Sherlock leaning closer to the smaller man. He really was the sure cure for any boredom, there wasn't a dull day with Moriarty around. But could Sherlock really give up his world, his life, just to be engulfed in Moriarty's intrigue from here on?

He didn't even have to stop to consider the question, the answer came to mind almost instantly. Of course he would. Because they were made for each other, made to fit together or to oppose. Without one, the other could not exist, like light and darkness.

Moriarty watched Sherlock thing with a smirk on his face. He knew his words had done their job, he could see the reasoning going on behind ice blue eyes. The criminal's plan was perfect, not a single flaw for the detective to point out, and that compounded his chances of having it go through. After all, Sherlock hadn't voiced any true complaints.

He held a hand out to the taller man, palm up. An open offer, a chance to end everything. To walk away from the banal world of man. Promises swam in brown eyes as they met blue.

And after a moment's further thought, Sherlock's cool hand was placed in Moriarty's.

"Don't worry about the messy details, Seb will handle those." Moriarty had already made the call, procuring two corpses and having them fitted to look just like the men who intended to leave this world behind. "All you have to do is make that call, and let go."

A short while later, the two men were seated beside each other on the ledge, closer than either of them usually sat by anyone. The mental compatibility between the two made it easier to be close, almost as if their minds were drawing their bodies together. And with how strong those minds were, perhaps that was the truth.

Moriarty's hand still tingled where Sherlock's touched it, the skin brought to life by the pact made in that single touch. He felt utterly elated, the light in his eyes not a mask but true happiness. He had what he wanted, his detective, his obsession, would truly be his now. Moriarty's and no one elses.

And most importantly, Sherlock had come willingly.

These were the thoughts swimming in his mind as Sherlock called up John, swiftly making his intentions clear. Suicide calls were surprisingly easy to fake, but perhaps that was because sociopaths really didn't have the time to stop and consider the emotions behind the action. It took all of Jim's self-control not to break out into deafening laughter at the confusion in John's tone. He could hear it through the static of the phone, so human, so normal. Were he anyone else, any less confident, he might have worried that the emotion there might convince Sherlock to leave him, but he wasn't.

Throughout the call, their fingers remained entwined, palms pressed together.

Brown eyes flicked over to watch the false Sherlock as it fell, finally allowing the laugh he'd been holding back to tumble from his lips, leaning his shoulder against Sherlock's for support. The deep sound of Sherlock's laugh joined the higher tones of his own and a warmth filled his chest.

When the laughter finally died out, that warmth remained, flowing up from his chest to heat his eyes. Icy orbs met dark, both coloured with a new heat, a new light, and slowly both leant forward.

There was no knowing who kissed who, it was a mutual act. An act of understanding, of knowing that they were the only two in the world who could see each other as they did. Mouths met and souls touched, minds silenced by the wonder of finding one's other half.

Happiness, that was the warmth in his chest, the heat that had his heart racing in his chest and a grin stretching his lips as he smiled into the kiss, hand carding softly through curly dark hair.

This was more than just happiness, though. This was home.


End file.
